


The Good Guys Die

by KilltheDJ



Series: Ain't About The Friends You Made [1]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: The Characters Arent The Band Members
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:15:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21602062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilltheDJ/pseuds/KilltheDJ
Summary: A Zone 1 Facility raid goes haywire, and Poison is left processing the aftermath and slipping a few scathing comments in. One in particular that strikes a cord in Ghoul's heart, and apologies don't mean anything when they've been said before.On the other side of the coin, Jet is left wondering how bad Battery City actually is, and how to deal with kids.
Series: Ain't About The Friends You Made [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556893
Comments: 11
Kudos: 26





	The Good Guys Die

**Author's Note:**

> Again - the characters are NOT the band members, but were based off them! Props if you can figure out who came from who.

“We’re never gonna change anything, you know. We’re never going to change the world.”

Jet and Ghoul looked up from what they were doing - reading a magazine and fiddling with wires respectively, leaning against the wall of the Diner -, to see Poison kicking at the ground, hands shoved in pockets, with the orange sunset reflecting off firetruck red hair; it gave a cruel glow across his face, illuminating his cheekbones and the harsh set of his jaw, not quite an angel but not quite a demon. 

“None of us are going to make it past twenty-seven,” Poison continued, glaring at the ground like it was its fault as he kicked it. “What’s the point of trying? What’s the point if we’re dead anyway?”

“Poison…” started Ghoul, lowly, caution lacing his voice. This was starting to sound like a rant. Poison got dangerous - to himself - when he started ranting. Poison liked to play with fire, liked to try his damnedest to burn every single bridge he could when he ranted, crossing any boundaries he found and toying with every ounce of venom he could find buried in the back of his mind.

“No. No!” Poison quickly shook his head, splaying his hair in his face in his effort to cut Ghoul off. “We’re as good as ghosted! Everyone knows that! We’re walking tragedies - everyone knows that!”

“We can’t focus on that,” Jet said calmly. Poison was right, though, a voice whispered…

Poison spat at Jet’s feet, throwing his arms out in anger - anger at the world, of course. “Sure. The aftermath is secondary, right? It’s not! Not for us - not for those kids we found! We have to focus on that because otherwise, it doesn’t matter! Hell, it doesn’t matter anyway...we’re just rats on the street, aren’t we? Aren’t we?!”

He was yelling at the night sky by now, no regard for his companions, hurling his venom out, like any god out there would answer. There was that part of Poison making an appearance; the Icarus who flew too close to the sun. Too close to his own fears. His own mortality. His own fragility.

Ghoul opened his mouth to speak, but Jet put a silent hand on his shoulder. Understanding, Ghoul stepped back but didn’t leave.

“Poison,” said Jet for a second time, keeping their voice calm yet authoritative. They continued when Poison snapped his gaze up, a burning flame licking behind the hazel. “Maybe you’re right. Or maybe you aren’t. Either way, we don’t have the time to dwell. Kobra’s trying to calm those kids down and you’re - you’re ranting about how they’re all doomed. And some of them are injured. How about you put your attention there, where it belongs?”

“Because what do you think we’re going to do?” Poison snapped, a snarl on his lips. “You’re right - they’re kids! The Zones raise monsters instead of kids and we can’t bring them back to the city!”

“The Desert raised me.” Ghoul stuck his chin up, defiantly, crossing his arms, waiting for Poison to say something he couldn’t take back.

Poison gestured wildly at Ghoul, no precise movement but a flurry of motion, whirling around to face the Raven in question, jamming a finger in his chest - hair flying into his face, a burning halo to match glowing anger. “Look where that got you, Snow Storm! A tattered shell of a boy with more trust issues than scars! Running with the most reckless crew you could find! Why - so you can die sooner, right? Guess you’ll get your wish!”

Silence rang out, a bubble of tension and misplaced anger and simmering explosions.

With a wince, Jet tried to redirect Poison, away from his scathing declarations, away from the anger that would burn him alive. As always. “One day at a time, Party Poison. Refocus. One day. What do we need to do, right now?”

Something about that made Poison stop short. He stood motionless momentarily, before taking a deep breath and carding his fingers through grimy unwashed red hair. No more halos, not tonight. Jet waited for him to speak until he got his own mind sorted out enough to deal with the situation at hand. 

“We need to get their injuries tended to,” Poison announced, slowly. Jet watched the gears start turning; watched the fearless Fabulous Killjoy came back, the Icarus falling beneath the surface. “Don’t have med supplies for that. We’re already running low. Anyone we know have supplies for that?”

Shifting back into his own Fabulous Killjoy, Ghoul shook his head, refusing to let the hurt show in his features, a scowl replacing them. There was tension in his stance that gave it away, but no one was going to point that out, and maybe Poison didn’t even notice. “We don’t. Besides, there’s too many of ‘em and Kobra got grazed too; been hidin’ it, but I saw his jacket. They need a clinic. Not amutear skills.”

Nodding in agreement, Poison’s eyes went unfocused, lost in his head again to try to find a solution. Kobra having even a slight injury was certainly able to shift Poison’s mind. “Clinic. Got it. Are there any clinics around here? Namely, ones who accept random large groups of injured children?”

Jet sighed. This was stressful - they didn’t like stress, but they were a killjoy and it came with the title. “I think I heard’a one out in Zone 6. Maybe we can radio Cherri about it and see what he knows?”

“Sounds like our best bet,” Ghoul agreed, pointedly not looking at their resident Cherry Bomb. “I got Cherri - you two go check on them, ‘kay? They must be freaked out…”

“As much as we are?” Jet raised a brow, smiling. 

Because they were all thrown off, freaked out and confused.

When they raided the facility in Zone 1, they expected captured killjoys they could liberate, and supplies they could steal.

They did not expect to find a group of kids in perfect health; kids that still wanted to be liberated. Kids that threw them off their rhythm and their plan so much that they had to sacrifice the supplies they came for to get all the kids out.

Ghoul rolled his eyes. “Yeah, as much as we are. But more, ‘cos we had the bright idea to let Kobra talk to ‘em. He’s shit at this.” 

“We’ll let him instill a little mortal terror before telling him to knock it off. Alright. Ghoulie, you got the radio, I got the kiddos, and Jet - can ya start getting the supplies into the ‘Am? And maybe Kobes’ bike?” So, Poison was getting back to normal, doling out orders and expecting everyone to follow.

They did, going off in their separate directions, but Jet waited until Poison walked off to turn to Ghoul, who’d bristled at the nickname. “He didn’t mean that, y’know. You know how he gets.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ghoul huffed, glaring at the ground with intent. “He doesn’t mean a lot of things. Doesn’t change that he said it, an’ he can’t take it back, an’ he’s not gonna talk about it.”

“I’m not...gonna justify him sayin’ that. But maybe...bring it up with him later.”

Ghoul nodded. “Later. I’ll go talk to Cherri.”

_

As expected, Kobra accidentally terrified the kids more than Jet ever could.

There were around eight of them, and most of them weren’t exactly kids. The two youngest were around five and six respectively, but they hadn’t given out their names and Jet wasn’t going to ask - for now, they were being referred to as Blue and Gray from the color of their eyes.

The oldest were a pair of about thirteen-year-olds, who’d grinned mischievously and told Jet to call them Dust and Storm for now, until they knew Jet better. Two of the younger ones followed them around and refused to talk to Jet or Kobra in general. 

Then there were the ones Jet was currently talking too; little boys, by the names of Valen and Salem. Valen was loud and confident compared to Salem’s more untrusting and snappy demeanor. They were about ten. 

With a smile, Jet gestured for them to follow him. “So - why were you guys in there?”

They asked in as light as they could, not meaning to make the pair of kids tense up. Valen seemed open to talk, of course, walking ever-so-slightly in front of Salem and with more energy in his steps. “Oh, that’s easy! ‘Cos we took a test at school that we passed.”

Well, that sent alarm bells ringing in Jet’s head.

Salem nodded shyly, Jet saw, out of the corner of their eye. They gave him a slight nod in his direction as an encouragement to continue - and Salem did, surprisingly. “Yeah, we passed a test that our teacher gave us. The other kids did too. We went on the bus with them out there.”

“What was on the test?” Jet had to tread carefully. Something about this seemed intimately familiar but he couldn’t figure out what...What was it? Something, something he’d been told years ago. 

Was it something Kobra had told him?

Before Jet could figure it out, Valen had already started talking, more than happy to let Jet in on anything he knew, walking right next to Jet (and nearly tripping them both). “Stuff like math an’ a little reading an’ a lot of running.”

“Running? On a test?”

Valen made an ‘mhmm’ noise, skipping alongside Jet before abruptly stopping to grab Salem’s hand to then go back to Jet’s side. At least he made friends. “Yeah, we went to this cool place - Mrs. Dran called it a gym or somethin’. She had us do some runnin’ and climbed up a rope an’ stuff like that. I liked when she let us play games.”

“My favorite was dodgeball,” Salem said quietly; Jet barely caught it.

“Yeah?” They inquired, not having to feign interest. From what they’d heard, Bat City was all about complacency and not being able to fight back. So why would BLI be having kids do all that physical shit like that? “Who won?”

“Salem ‘n I were on opposite sides and the last kids standing!” Valen announced proudly, giving a crooked grin - he was missing one of his front teeth. Cute kid. 

“So Mrs. Dran said we were the ones who passed the test and put on the bus with the others,” Salem finished. Him and Valen seemed to get along well; they were in City classes together, which made sense why they were sticking to each other’s side. 

A physical test, huh? That...didn’t sound like it could lead to anything good. Not if it got them put on a bus to the Zones. The facility they were raiding was a detention center...but a child wasn’t a threat.

A child was an asset.

It was a disgusting thought to have, and Jet was disgusted they thought it, but that was how BLI thought: everyone had the opportunity to be an asset. To BLI, children especially, because they could be molded and form-fitted into whatever BLI wanted from a young age. But they had to have the perfect characteristics for that, right?

So the test the kids took was to see if they had those characteristics. 

And the kids - all the kids they rescued - passed that test with flying colors. 

But Jet said none of this out loud, instead giving another smile that crinkled around their eyes but didn’t reach them. “Well, I’m glad you passed the test. You’re out here now.”

“We didn’t want to be out here,” Valen said matter-of-factly. “We were fine. But I like it out here. Hey - hey Salem, d’ya like it out here?”

“It’s too hot,” Salem sighed, wiping his nose with his white shirt sleeve.

They were City kids...never accustomed to the heat. And most of them were too young to have started the pills, luckily enough. 

Most of them. Dust and Storm though...But they did willingly convince the rest of the kids to go with them - the crew who were so obviously killjoys - in the heat of the moment, and times like those was where flight-or-flight kicked in and you didn’t have the time to think about anything other than what your subconscious wanted. 

Jet mulled over that as they instructed the kids to grab a gallon of water each to put in the back of the Trans Am - it was all they could carry, Valen and Salem were only ten after all. 

Valen and Salem chatted amongst themselves, easy conversation. Jet wished their lives weren’t going to get a whole lot more complicated soon… 

_

There was a semi-functional new clinic out in Zone 6, according to Cherri.

Ghoul told the others - save Poison, who heard from one of the others -, and now they were piled into the Trans Am to get there.

Well, not all of them. There was no way to fit twelve people into the ‘Am without causing someone to spontaneously combust. There were two bikes: Kobra’s, which no one was allowed to touch without given explicit permission, and the other one, that didn’t have a set owner.

It was Ghoul’s for now. Ghoul and Dust’s, actually, because of course, the two oldest kids were going to want to ride on the bikes instead of being crammed into the car, and Storm was partial to Kobra already.

Which was a bit odd, since Kobra had the uncanny ability to terrify most people on accident and you would think that riding a bike with an injured person driving was a bad idea and that one would avoid it. 

Storm and Dust were given the helmets (as much as he was sure it pained Kobra to give his iconic GOOD LUCK helmet up, apparently the kids were the priority), and between that and the wind and Ghoul’s general bad mood that it was going to be a quiet few hours of driving.

It would be good for Ghoul. He could get his head straight, think through what happened. 

Saving kids on accident? Check. Sure, they weren’t who the group had thought they’d be, but they were liberated anyway, weren’t they? That was half the mission. Ghoul could wrap his head around that, could accept it.

What he couldn’t accept was what Poison had said about him.

It was no secret that Poison said things he didn’t mean when he was angry. When he was mad at himself for some reason another when he was mad at the world for not being what he wanted it to be. 

But...That didn’t change what Poison said. It didn’t excuse it, either. 

Maybe Poison was more truthful when he was worked up like that. When his brain didn’t give him the time to think about what he was saying when he was too pissed off to put a filter on what he wanted to say, what simmered in the back of his mind but he never let out. 

Was Poison right?

Was he nothing more than jaded scar tissue? Was he just running with the Killjoys because he had a deathwish?

...No. No.

Whether or not the answer to his first question was yes or no, Ghoul knew he wasn’t just running with the Killjoys. He didn’t run with them. They were all a crew, a dysfunctional, mismatched, bad-at-communication crew, who’d die for each other in a heartbeat.

They were family. 

Maybe Ghoul had a deathwish, maybe he didn’t, but that didn’t change anything. They were all his family, and he’d never change that for anything. 

As for Poison and his ranting? The two of them could discuss that at a later time. So probably never. For now...Ghoul was going to hold it close to his heart, knowing Poison was wrong, but knowing Poison wasn’t going to apologize. 

He could let his anger simmer. He’d seen his family do that long enough to try it out for himself. They had better things to worry about right now, anyway; like these kids. 

It was no surprise to anyone when Kobra was the one to get there first, a dust cloud in his wake that caught Ghoul’s attention enough for him to realize that not only had they made it out to Zone 6 or the clinic. 

Ghoul glanced behind him (looking past Dust), scowling at the Trans Am behind him. He didn’t want to deal with Poison right now; in fact, he thought, speeding up, I won’t deal with Poison.

Unlike Ghoul, Poison had about five hundred kids to care about before he could leave the ‘Am unattended. Ghoul just had to go inside before Poison could and he wouldn’t have to talk to him. 

You know you’ve hit a block in your life when you’re debating how quickly you need to get to a clinic, not to save a life, but to avoid someone you’d die for. 

Either way, he didn’t have to debate for long, coming up to the clinic to park next to Kobra’s bike (which was much better suited to the rough treatment of Zone 6). Ghoul forced a small smile at Dust because Dust didn’t know what was going on and it wasn’t his fault, so he didn’t the brunt of Ghoul’s anger. “Let’s go inside ‘n find Storm ‘n Kobra, alright?”

Dust nodded, giving him a large grin, oblivious to how much Ghoul wanted to punch Poison in the face. He was already rushing toward the clinic - which Ghoul hadn’t gotten a good look at yet - before Ghoul could hear his answer.

The clinic was...not much of a clinic?

From what Ghoul could see, without wind in his eyes and the glint of the sun and emotional turmoil blinding most of his senses, it was more of a mansion.

An old, falling apart mansion, but a mansion; Ghoul could see the age-old gold architecture cracking along once-sharp edges, the blown-out windows that used to be beautiful and towering and intimidating.

Now it was more of a washed-out brown, reminiscent of a haunted house, with the roof caved in but seemingly the rest of it intact, with one ornate door battered from sand and wind; which was thrown open by Dust, of course, Ghoul scrambling after in moments.

Avoiding Poison was rather easy when flying by messy way-too-high-ceiling hallways with bad lighting, following after a tween who had no idea where he was going either, Ghoul had to say. 

Dust turned a sharp corner, blindly reaching behind him to find Ghoul’s wrist and pulled him with him (so Ghoul made-out with the wall for a few moments).

"What was that about kid!"

"Saw Storm!" Dust said; Ghoul couldn't see his face but he could practically hear the excited grin. Those two were close, weren't they? 

Kinda reminded him of himself and Poison. 

Electing to not say anything else, Ghoul nodded, forcefully slowing Dust down via tugging on his arm, because running without your life on the line was unnecessary and Ghoul had short legs. 

_

The kids would all be okay. Just some bruises and scratches and a few more serious injuries, but they'd all be fine within a few weeks or so.

At least, that was what the doctor - Dr. Benzedrine was his name, just as short as Ghoul but three times weirder - said. As for the graze on Kobra's side, he'd have to lay off anything too physical for a while and probably forgo some time on his motorbike. 

With it all said and done, Ghoul had gone outside to lean against one of the clinic walls, by the doors. The wind wasn't too strong and the dark blue of a night sky had faded in; it was perfect.

He was perfectly content with standing there, arms crossed over his chest, replaying the day's events over and over again in his head, but of course he couldn't even get that pleasure.

No, Poison had to walk out, looking around in confusion - until his eyes finally found Ghoul.

"Hey, Ghoulie - "

"Don't call me that."

Poison frowned. Ghoul wanted to smack him. "Uh, okay. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go back and sweep the facility back in Z-1?"

If Ghoul was violently scowling, Poison didn't point it out. "No. I don't."

"Why are you mad at me?"

"Why wouldn't I be mad at you?" Ghoul snapped, finally looking up with a scathing glare. Ice blue eyes were good for something, and it was startling everyone he wanted to punch straight in the face. "You say fucked up shit when you rant and you never apologize for it!"

"...Look, Ghoulie, about -"

"I already told you to stop calling me that!"

Poison looked away, staring dejectedly at the sand. Ghoul didn't care. "I didn't mean that. You know that. I didn't mean it."

"You sure as Hell said it anyway!" Ghoul scoffed, his nails leaving crescent-shaped Mark's in his arm under the fabric of his shirt from how hard he was digging his nails in. "If it had nothing behind it you wouldn't have said it. Do you seriously think I'm only in this gang to wait until we get massacred?!"

"I don't," Poison said slowly, after a moment of silence. "I don't think you just want to die recklessly. I think you are reckless and it seems like that. I was angry and...and I wasn't thinking about what I was saying."

"You can say that all you fucking want. It's whatever. There's no taking it back now."

Poison never apologized. It had already taken him a toll just to force out that he was in the wrong about anything, but that wasn’t going to change anything. 

Yeah, he apologized. So what? An apology didn’t solve the fact that now Ghoul was going to have self-doubt and guilt eating away at the bottom of his stomach for several weeks now because Poison thought he had the right to assume why Ghoul was in a crew.

It didn’t change the fact that all of Ghoul’s scars, from faded silver to a harsh red were phantom burning and he was acutely aware of just how many scars littered his body just because Poison thought he had the right to point it out.

Poison didn’t. And an apology wasn’t going to take any of that back. Sure, he knew everything Poison said wasn’t true, deep down in his heart, but there would always be those lingering questions now.

Back in the real world, out of Ghoul’s swirl of red-hot thoughts, Poison hung his head low. “..Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, though, I really am.”

“I know.”

Silence draped over the pair, the low whistling of the wind picking up as a welcomed companion keeping them separated. 

Poison looked up, suddenly, back to Ghoul; and at that moment Ghoul decided it best to walk away. Poison looked so goddamn upset but it didn’t change what he said.

Muttering under his breath as he trudged back into the clinic, Ghoul complained to himself. Maybe it would be different if it was the first time Poison did this.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t the first time he’d torn down a relationship when he was ranting and it wouldn’t be the last time, either, because Poison never learned his lesson. Any time something unexpected happened, there was always a rant under Poison’s tongue, and with all these damn kids they’d found there was going to be more surprises. More rants. More any words.

More burned bridges.

“Are you okay Mr. Fun Ghoulie?”

Ghoul stopped himself from sighing - the voice sounded too young for it to be anyone who knew better than to irritate him when he was upset -, and turned around, to find one of the youngest kids...ah, shit, it was one of the ones they didn’t know the name of. 

It was the chubby-cheeked, stupidly tan (for the controlled climate of Battery City), the short one with the gray eyes. Gray, they were calling him, right. 

“Yeah, I’m okay, kiddo. Why’d’ya ask?” Ghoul smiled at him, silently hoping he’d go back to whatever room he’d come from. Ghoul was not very good with kids. 

Gray shrugged, putting his whole body into it as children do. “You looked upset. And your footsteps are really loud on the floor.”

“They are now, huh?” Ghoul hummed, glancing down at his steel-toed boots. Yeah, maybe he forgot to walk quietly in his I-want-to-punch-Party-Poison mood. “‘M sorry. Why don’t you go back to where your friend is?”

“Are you mad at Mr. Party Poison?” Gray blurted abruptly, looking directly into Ghoul’s eyes with intense focus. 

Ghoul internally winced. Out loud, he gave another strained smile. “A little. He said something he shouldn’t have, is all. How did you know that?”

“We could hear you. When he was talking really loudly.”

“...Oh. That’s okay. He said sorry for what he said.”

“Then why are you still mad at him?”

“Because…” Ghoul racked his brain to find a good way to explain this to a kid. Why was this kid so damn smart? Maybe he should start calling him Calvin and get him a stuffed tiger. “Because he always says sorry and he always does the same thing.”

Gray crossed his arms and scrunched up his nose. “That doesn’t sound very nice. Maybe he forgets he said sorry.”

“People don’t forget things like that.”

“My mommy did.”

Well, damn kid. How was he supposed to answer that without setting off five red flags… “Uh...It doesn’t really, um, work like that out here. Poison is just...mean to himself sometimes. Okay? Okay. Can you go find everyone else and go sit with them? If you find Jet they have stickers…”

With a wide-eyed grin at the mention of stickers, Gray ran off, an excited bounce to his step. Children were confusing little creatures at best and Ghoul didn’t like the interrogation he’d just had by one.

All he’d gotten out of that conversation was that these kids were already fucked up from the city, and, yeah, Poison was being mean to himself. And Ghoul was being mean to Poison by allowing it.

It didn’t excuse it, it still didn’t excuse anything Poison said, but now Ghoul felt bad about completely blowing off his apology and storming off. 

But he wasn’t going to go and find Poison, either, to right things or whatever. Poison had given his apology. Ghoul had reacted to it. That part was said and done, and now their priority was the kids, was still the kids and if Ghoul was right about the feeling in his gut, the kids would be their priority for a very long time.

_

Fun Ghoul, for all his scars and trust issues and recklessness and death wishes and apology-rejections, didn’t say anything about Poison’s biting comment, not in the weeks or months or years that followed.

Poison had given his apology.

Ghoul took a while to understand it.

**Author's Note:**

> If it got a little confusing, whoops, my hand slipped and I love my kids a little too much! Hoped you enjoyed reading and drop a comment, maybe?


End file.
